


Rapture and Regret

by reciprocityfic (orphan_account)



Category: Dancing with the Stars (US) RPF, Maksyl - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Maksyl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 16:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3817822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/reciprocityfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a case study in happiness and loss.  or, maks and meryl, and the aftermath of their win on dancing with the stars, season 18.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1: Rapture

**Author's Note:**

> Written for one of the sweet girls on Tumblr.
> 
> Love and thanks to you all, xo.

##  **Part 1: _Rapture_**

They have a moment after they win.  

He slides down off of Tony and Val’s shoulders and gathers her up in his arms, helping her hold their garish, shiny trophy.  She’s closer than he expects her to be, and her cheek ends up resting against his head, his face nuzzled into her neck.  He thinks that maybe they shouldn’t hold each other like this in front of a national audience. Maybe it will serve to further confirm suspicions that so many seem to have concerning their relationship.  But then he inhales and breathes her in and it makes him stop thinking, like it always does.  He closes his eyes and pulls her closer and everything fades for a moment until it is just her and her scent and her skin and her warmth and her essence.  He wants to tell her he loves her, comes  _this close_  to telling her that he loves her. But he bites his tongue and stops himself.  Because they  _are_  in front of a national audience and he wants to see her face when he tells her for the first time.  He wants it to be quiet and he wants to kiss her afterwards.

So he lets her go, and Emma takes her arm and pulls her away.  Tony and Val drape themselves over him again.

And he doesn’t tell her.

*             *             *

He resolves to tell her tomorrow.  But tomorrow comes and goes with no opportunity.  There are always more interviews, always someone else to take a picture with, always more photographs to sign and always new people at which to smile and wave.  Any down time is spent taking naps.  Then Mama and Papa host dinner and invite  _everyone._ Meryl is never left alone, as someone is perpetually hugging her or thanking her or gushing over her.  Which warms his heart, but also frustrates him to no end.  All he wants is her to himself for a minute or two.  But it doesn’t happen.  Jenna takes her home.  He falls into bed that night, and once again resolves to tell her tomorrow.

But tomorrow is the same, except worse.  Questions become more direct and intrusive, and he sees them truly bother her, for the first time.

She tells everyone they’re not dating.  Twice. Which doesn’t bother him. (They’re  _not_  dating, really.)

But it makes something not feel quite right when they finally do have a quiet moment, as he picks her up to take her to the afterparty at Tao.  There’s still a slight tension in her eyes, a hint of hesitation as he presses his lips to hers to say hello.  He almost asks her if she’s alright, if she feels weird, that it’s okay to say they’re not dating.  But he fears that he would end up  _making_  it weird, or increase the weirdness, so he tells her she looks beautiful instead.  She smiles and lays her head on his shoulder in the back of the cab, and by the time they reach the restaurant, she’s looking at him and laughing at him like everything is perfect.  They eat, drink, and dance the night away.  He keeps her within his reach the entire time, and she leans into his touch comfortably.  Everyone parts at various levels of inebriation.  She leaves with Jenna.  Again.

He stumbles home and clings to tomorrow.

*             *             *

Except tomorrow, there are hangovers and plane rides.  Then there is packing up her things in Los Angeles so she can go home.   _Home_.

(Home for her is 2,000 miles from Los Angeles and 500 from New York, but he tries not to think about it.)

Val is there the entire time.  Throughout the packing and after the packing, during dinner.  He even sits with them and watches a movie in the evening.  He really wants to tell his brother to fuck off and go home.  He wants to hold her and run his fingers through her hair and hear her voice and not watch whatever movie they put on.  But Val stays and before he knows it it’s  _late_  and her plane leaves so early the next morning.  The brothers leave, goodbyes and hugs are exchanged.  Val starts towards the car, and he pulls her to him one more time, smoothing her hair.  Her little arms squeeze him.

He leaves without a word.

He picks her up at the crack of dawn and takes her to the airport.  They are finally alone, but he feels sick to his stomach and she keeps looking out the window and fiddling with her phone.

He parks at the far end of the airport parking lot.  He pulls her giant suitcase from the trunk of his car, and she stands it up, placing her carry-on on top.  She sighs and looks up at him.

“Maks.”

He takes two steps and closes the distance between them, gathering her up in his arms.  She squeezes him again, more tightly than she did last night.  He can feel her fingernails digging into his t-shirt and leaving impressions on the skin of his back.  He lays his head on hers, breaths in the scent of her hair.  He’s been around her so much over the past months that the smell has become a part of him, lingering on his clothes and in his car and on the couch in his apartment, where she had spent so many nights curled up next to him.

He wonders how long it will be before it fades.

“I’m going to miss you, princess,” he murmurs, bringing his fingers up to trace lightly over her scalp.

“I’m going to miss you more.”

There is an empty beat. He opens his mouth to tell her, but the words get stuck in his throat and he  _can’t say them_.  The moment isn’t right, somehow.

And then it is gone.

“Don’t forget about me,” she whispers into his chest.

“Never,” he declares, with more conviction than he intended.  Her nails dig into his back a little deeper.

“I’ll come visit you in New York.  You can show me around Brooklyn.”

“And you have to take me to all the places in Michigan that you keep saying you love so much.”

“I will.   _We_ will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He brings his hand up to rest on her cheek.

“I should go,” she tells him slowly.  “My plane is coming.”

He presses his lips into her hair, and blinks back tears.

“We’ll see each other all the time,” he reasons, as much to himself as to her.  “We’ll visit each other and we’ll talk on the phone and Skype and shit.  Nothing’s going to change.  We’ll still see each other.”

She lets out a shaky breath.

“Yeah.”

He lets go of her reluctantly, and she takes a step back, grabbing the handle of her suitcase.  Leaning forward, he gets on eye level with her. He lifts the sunglasses she has on, placing them on top of her head.  Her eyes gleam.  But like him, she bites her lip and pushes the tears away.  They will not cry, because this isn’t over and this is not the end.

(It feels like the end, so much.  It feels like this is the last page of their story.  It makes him ill.)

“Thank you, Meryl. For everything.  You made this experience everything I could have ever dreamed it would be, and more.  I’ll never make it up to you, ever.  I wish I could…express it properly, what I feel, but I can’t.  Just know that…just know that you-“

His voice breaks, and he stops.  She places her hand on his cheek.

“I know, Maks.  I know.”

He sighs, and kisses her gently, touching his mouth to her forehead, her nose, and finally her lips. When he pulls away, she grabs her suitcase again, starting to make her way towards the airport.  When she is a few yards from him, she stops and turns back. He wants her to come back, to run to him, to wrap her arms around his neck as he lifts her off the ground.  He wants her to get into his car and he wants to take her home, so he can tell her and they can figure out everything together.

She can’t, and she won’t. He knows this.

He wants it all the same.

She waves slightly. He waves back, and blows her a kiss. She smirks, and then goes on her way.

She doesn’t turn back this time.  She keeps moving farther and farther from him.

He feels like he’s letting a piece of himself walk away.  

He feels like he’s bleeding.

He watches her until she is a speck in a sea of people.  He gets into his car methodically, changing the music from the playlist she had made for him to something rougher and heavier and detached.  He goes to put the car in drive, and pauses.

She’s left one of her hairties in the cup holder.

He picks it up between his thumb and index finger, and then slips it over his hand.  Without thinking, he brings his wrist up to his nose, inhaling.  He smells her hair, and his tears spill over.

For the first time since March – for the first time since the day he met her – he is out of tomorrows.

*             *             *

He’s forgotten what days without her were like.

It’s not that they’re  _bad_ , per say, especially now, when everything about her is still fresh in his mind.  When her scent still lingers in his nostrils and her voice still echoes in his ears and her touch still ghosts over his skin.

But he knows that bit by bit she’ll start to fade.  The smell he remembers won’t have enough dimensions, there will be something about the tenor of her voice that is off.  Her fingertips will press against him too gently.

And what will he do then?

They interact, off course. They text each other incessantly, talk on the phone every day, Skype a time or two.  These are decidedly the  _best_ parts of his days; every ding alerting to a new message makes his heart leap, hearing her exclaim  _“Maks!”_ through the phone makes his stomach flip, seeing her face on his computer screen brings a smile to his lips that is reserved solely for her. Objectively, he knows it’s kind of ridiculous.  It’s only been a  _week_ , for God’s sake.  Teddy, Alex, Serge, and Val poke fun at his glee over every communication he has with her, slap on the back and tell him he’s,  _“so fucking whipped it’s embarrassing.”_ He doesn’t think so, and he wouldn’t care, even if it was; if this is what being whipped feels like, he will gladly take it, every moment, over everything.

But texts and phone calls and Skype aren’t the same as being with her, as having her next to him, as simply having to reach out to lace his fingers through hers.  It’s like flipping through pictures in a photo album, where everything is too flat and too small and too dark to really show the real thing. And he  _wants_ the real thing.  He wants  _her_.

But these things had to suffice, for now.  And while days without her aren’t bad, they aren’t special.  He doesn’t have an extra reason to get out of bed in the morning.  He doesn’t sit down at night and grin helplessly as he thinks back on what he’d done and who he’d done it with.  Everything is slightly grayer, slightly colder.

He sits on the couch with Alex one night, mindlessly watching a Rangers game.

“I miss her,” he blurts out suddenly, for no other reason than the fact that it’s  _true_  and increasingly often the place in his heart that she occupies completely hurts too much not to say something.  “I miss her so fucking much I don’t know what to do.”

He expects a biting comeback from his friend, but Alex simply sighs and reaches over to him, running his hands through his hair before turning back to the television.

He never thought, when he signed on to the show in January, that the end of the season would be this hard.

(But then, he never imagined she would come to mean so much to him, either.)

*             *             *

One text from her turns his world upside down in the best way.

_Meryl:  Guess who’s coming to NYC next week ;)_

His heart stops, then picks up again, pounding like a bass drum.

_Maks: How long?_

_Meryl: 3 days, give or take.  I know it’s not long, but…_

_Maks:  No, it’s perfect.  I’m so happy! I can’t wait to see you :)_

_Meryl:  You too! Miss you soooooooooooo much._

_Maks:  Not as much as I miss you._

_Meryl: I doubt that very much :) <3_

He feels like he’s been wandering in the desert since the last time he saw her, and he’s just seen water on the horizon.

He’s giddy.

*             *             *

He has an awards ceremony to attend on Monday night, and he asks her to go with him Friday evening over the phone.  He’s nervous, because this is as close to a date they’ve ever come.  She giggles on the other end of the line and accepts his invitation with a soft  _“Yes, I’d love to.”_

She shows up at his door late Monday afternoon, towing her suitcase behind her.  The moment their eyes meet, he grins so widely that his face feels like it might split.  Her returning smile is  _dazzling_.  He runs to her, scoops her up in one of his arms and takes her luggage in his other, carrying them both into the house.  He closes the front door behind him and tosses the suitcase down onto the floor, wrapping both arms around her and spinning them around. She laughs into his cheek.

“ _Maks_ ,” she exhales.

*             *             *

He is tempted to bail out on the awards altogether, to just stay home and be with her.  She looks so beautiful, all dressed up, and she takes his hand.

“Don’t be silly, Maks. This is going to be fun.”

She doesn’t let go of his hand the entire ride to the event, or once they get there.  Only when he is called on stage does she release him, and he misses the feeling of her small fingers between his immediately.  When he returns to the table, the look she gives him is so  _pure_  and so  _loving_  that he nearly slips up and kisses her right there, in the middle of a room full of people.  She pulls his hand back into her lap immediately.

It is his favorite event ever, simply because she is there with him, because she is next to him again, because he can picture this scene playing out the exact same way twenty years from now and he  _loves_  that more than he can express.

They go back to his house together, both changing into sweats and then settling onto his couch. He puts his arm around her and she curls into his side, laying her head over his heart.  He knows she has a hotel room in the city, but he doesn’t ask her if she wants to go back and she doesn’t mention it herself.  They talk about nothing and everything.  After a while, she begins to doze against his chest. He gazes down at her, her eyes closed, face peaceful, soft breaths passing between her lips.  His heart swells, and he presses his lips to her head before scooping her up in his arms.

He carries her upstairs and into his room, laying her down on his bed and then crawling in next to her, tucking the comforter around them.  She stirs slightly as he pulls her against him, turning and draping an arm across his stomach.

“Goodnight, Maksy,” she mumbles sleepily.

He grins.

“Goodnight, princess.”

She falls back to sleep in an instant.  He buries his face in her hair, closes his eyes, inhales her for the first time in what feels like forever.

He feels like he can breathe again.  He feels like he’s finally home.

*             *             *

She has interviews with Charlie in the morning.  She leaves early, while he is still sleeping.  When he stirs, he reaches for her blindly, his fingers finding nothing but rumpled sheets.  He opens his eyes, finds a note sitting on her pillow.

_Maks,_

_I didn’t want to wake you up!  Be back soon.  Thank you for everything.  I’m so happy I’m here._

_Meryl_

He picks the piece of paper up, fiddles it between his fingers, a small smile playing on his lips as he imagines it, her coming home to him.

When he hears the front door open that afternoon, he jumps up from his seat in the kitchen and runs to greet her.  She beams at him, drops her bag in the entranceway and wraps her arms around his neck. He lifts her off the ground and walks back into the kitchen, setting her on the counter and standing before her. She positions him between her legs, her knees squeezing his hips, and she pulls his face to hers, kissing him softly.

“Hi,” she whispers against his mouth.

“Hi, babe.  I missed you.”

“I missed you more.”

His hands settle at her hips, and she pushes him away, holding his shoulders and just dipping her thumbs under the collar of the gray t-shirt he is wearing, trailing them along the base of his neck.  Goosebumps rise on his skin.

“They asked me about you,” she remarks coyly.

He panics for a moment, remembering what happened last time someone had asked.  He leans forward slightly, involuntarily, pushed by his unfailing curiosity for her answer.

“And what did you tell them?”

She giggles, her lips turning up into wide, beautiful smile.

“I told them it was  _personal_.  And that I was here promoting Puffs.  And that you and Charlie were in a showmance.”

“Were you smiling like that when you said it?”

A pink blush colors her porcelain skin.

“I  _might_  have been.”

He grabs one of her hands on his neck and brings it to his face, holding it against his cheek.

“I’m not sure they’re going to believe you, then.”

She moves her thumb over his jaw, pulling gently at his two-day old stubble.

She whispers, “I’m not sure I want them to.”

His heart swells, and he can’t help but beam at her, at the fact that a part of her wants people to  _know_  how much they care for each other.  She reciprocates with her own smile, and then pulls his face back to hers, kissing him again.  She opens his mouth with her lips and uses her tongue to find his own.

This kissing is different than what he is used to with her.  Their kisses before were quick, stolen, hidden in dark corners of studios and hotel rooms and car rides when everyone else had turned their heads. Or, when they felt safe,  _alone_ , they were slow, sweet, and lazy, passed between lips that were just getting to know each other, holding the promise of more kisses the next day and the day after that.

But that promise had ended, now, and this kissing is deeper, rawer, more hungry and desperate.  He pushes and she bites and hands wander, fingers pulling at clothes and ever-trying to be closer, ever-searching for more skin to explore and caress.

Her hands slip under his t-shirt, and she pushes it up, splaying her palms across his torso. He lets go of her only to gather up his shirt and pull it over his head, tossing it onto the floor.  She runs her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, and down his arms, gripping his biceps and tugging him back to her.  She runs her hands down his forearms and takes his hands, placing them just at the hem of her blouse.  He takes her initiative, slipping his hands under the black fabric, fingers ghosting around her belly button, moving down and then back up, tracing her abdominal muscles, repeating this circuit on loop.  The other hand wraps around her back, pulling her hips toward him, pinky and ring fingers dipping below the waistband of her jeans.

He leans into her completely, forcing her back.  Her heads bangs softly off of one of the cabinets.  He is about to ask her if she’s okay, but even his infinitesimal separation from her causes her to groan in protest, and she leans back into his mouth, nails digging into the skin of his back.  He wraps his arms completely around her, enveloping her, and lifts her off the counter.  She wraps her legs around his hips, holds her mouth to his for a moment longer before breaking apart, both of them panting.  Her skin is flushed, hair tousled, eyes dancing as she stares down at him.  She looks so beautiful that he could weep.

“Meryl,” he murmurs, voice low and husky.

They haven’t done this before.  While they had been on the show, they had slept together many times, but it had been only that, purely.  They had simply enjoyed the feeling of being next to each other, relished the comfort and warmth it brought, and the fact that the presence of the other had banished any restlessness or bad dreams.  They hadn’t done anything more, not wanting to mar it, not wanting those who would find out, inevitably, to call it inappropriate, or unprofessional. They wanted it to be away from everything.  They wanted it to be  _theirs_.

And he has to be sure, now.

She can see the question in his eyes, knows what he wants to ask wordlessly.

“Baby, I want to,” she assures him.

She tightens her legs around him, and her hips shift over his, moving against him.  He lets out a soft, involuntary moan, his eyes fluttering closed. He wills himself to drag open his lids, though, wanting to  _see_ her, and how he’s making her feel.  Her eyes are closed now, and she lets out a breathy, “ _Baby_ ,” before moving her hips again.  He groans loudly this time, and he places an arm under her ass, hauling her up higher, away from him.  If she kept moving like that, against him, he would lose it in the kitchen, in his fucking  _pants_. She wraps herself around him, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling his head towards her.  He buries his face in the warm crook of her neck.

“You’re certain?” he asks against her skin.

“Maks,” she says, just the slightest hint of exasperation in her voice.  She pulls back, so she can look at him.  She gazes at him like she can see his bones.  He is unequivocally bare in front of her, and it is both terrifying and exquisite.

“ _Baby_ , I’m ready.  I want to.”

He hears the tone of her voice, the glint in her hazel irises, only has to search her face for a millisecond before he knows, with everything he is, that she is sincere. He grins slowly, stupidly, and it’s all he can do.  His angel, his princess, his  _Meryl_ , wants this, wants  _him_ , and he can hardly believe it, even though he knows it is true.

He reaches up one hand, takes her chin between his fingers and tilts her face down to his, kissing her lips chastely.  She brings a hand up, traces her index finger down his nose and to his bottom lip.  She tugs on it lightly with the tip of her finger.

“What are you waiting for, silly?” she questions.

“Nothing.  Not anymore.”

He takes the finger on his lips into his mouth, sucking it  _hard_  for three seconds, making her gasp.  He smirks, and then runs out of the kitchen, with her in his arms.

They make it halfway up the stairs before the doorbell rings.

“Who the hell is  _that_?” she growls, as much as her delicate, silver bell voice will allow.

He sets her on the stairs immediately, kneeling in front of her.  He buries his face in her chest, mumbling “ _Fuck_ ,” under his breath.

The doorbell rings again.

“That must be Teddy, Nicole, and Alex.  I invited them for dinner.  And they want to shave Teddy’s beard or some shit.”

He lifts his head, finds her staring at the entranceway murderously.  He can’t help but smile.

“If we ignore them, will they go away?”

He chuckles, and extracts himself from her, standing up on the stairs.  He gazes down at her, her knees pulled up to her chest, brunette locks messy, a pout on her lips.  She is the cutest and hottest and most _gorgeous_  thing he’s ever seen, and he almost can’t stand it, sometimes.

“Princess, I would  _love_ to.  But they might get worried.  Plus, Alex has a key.”

She sighs heavily, and he offers his arm to her.  She takes his hand, and he pulls her up, with more force than she expected.  She falls against him, and he catches her, embracing her strongly.  Their height difference on the stairs aligns their faces, and their noses bump together. For a few moments, he gets lost in her again, but then the doorbell rings again, twice, freeing him from her spell. A fist pounds on the door.  He smiles ruefully.

“But they’ll go home. And then  _tonight_ , princess…”

He trails off, and she laughs, turning on her heel and walking back up the stairs to freshen up. His hold on her hand lingers, and he kisses it once, before letting it go.

“Tonight,” she calls back to him as she disappears down the hall.

He can’t stop smiling as he jogs to the kitchen to put his t-shirt back on.  He can’t stop smiling as he jogs to the front door and yanks it open just before Teddy can pound his fist on it again.  He can’t stop smiling as his friends hug him, almost splits his face in two when Nicole asks where she is.  He  _can’t stop smiling_ , and Alex rolls his eyes, mumbles under his breath.

“Christ, you are so fucking whipped.”

He is.  And he loves it.  He doesn’t care.

*             *             *

She fits in with his friends seamlessly.  She sits next to Nicole, leans against her and sighs, and Nicole slings an arms around her shoulders and calls her “ _my girl”_ with a soft, affectionate smile.  She gives it back to Alex just as hard as he dishes it out, which makes his friend laugh and respect her even more.  She teases Teddy gently, jokingly, along with the rest of them.  It feels like she’s been her for  _weeks_ , rather than the occasional day or two here and there over the past few months.  It feels like she’s been there _forever_ , since the beginning, and it feels like she should never leave.

He spends large portions of the evening simply staring at her, a small grin playing on his lips, wonder in his eyes, as she interacts with his extended family and he sees how much she  _fits_  with them.  His heart grows watching it, fills up his chest. At the end of the evening, after they finish with Teddy’s facial hair, they go back into the living room. Nicole sits on the couch and pulls Meryl into her side, but she’s spent so much time away from him this evening.   As much as he loves seeing her with his friends, he misses the touch of her skin.  He sits on the other end of the couch, and reaches out, grabbing her hand possessively.  She turns, looks down at their intertwined fingers and then up at him, her eyes playful and dark.  He smirks.

“Come here, princess.”

She only hesitates a moment before a grin turns up the corner of her lips.  She politely extracts herself from Nicole’s arms, scoots across the cushions until she is pressed against his side.  He wraps an arm around her, and she curls into the crook of his arm like a cat.  He swears he can almost hear her  _purring_  as his fingers trail up her arm and into her hair, tugging gently on the bun on top of her head.  He leans down involuntarily, presses his lips to her forehead and her nose.  He pauses, staring at her mouth, not knowing if she would want to kiss in front of people yet.  Her eyes flutter open, as if she can feel his hesitation.  She gazes up at him, her eyes bright, cheeks slightly flushed. He licks his lips.  He wants to kiss her  _so badly_.  And he doesn’t want it to just be a quick, chaste peck.  He wants to press his mouth against hers until his lips are swollen and his heart is drumming and he can’t breathe.  He wants the taste of her to never leave his tongue.

He vaguely hears Nicole say something about the time and how the three of them should be getting home, the scuffle of feet against the floor as she shuffles the boys out of the room to get their things.  He knows he should get up to say goodbye, but he can’t move.  He is trapped, enchanted by the perfect soul in his arms, whose eyes still hold his.  She smiles gently, and leans up to press her lips to his cheek, whispering “We don’t want to be rude,” as she rolls off him and heads to the entranceway.  He sits up and takes a few deep breaths to collect himself before following.

Hugs and kisses are exchanged, and then Nicole, Alex, and Teddy leave.  He hangs back as they all give Meryl one last hug, and then she closes the front door with a low click.  She turns on her heel, catching his eyes again.  The house is silent except for the steady ticking of a clock down the hall.  For a moment, they just stand a few feet from each other, gazing, relishing in their connection, feeling the energy that flows between them.  

Then, she reaches out her arm, and he steps forward immediately, lacing their fingers together and grabbing her other hand as he stops mere inches before her.  He feels the pulse in her wrists beating against his palms.

“Meryl,” he murmurs.

“Maksim,” she answers softly.

He pulls her to him suddenly, lifting her off the ground.  She threads her fingers through his hair, bringing his face under her chin.  He trails slow kisses across her throat until he finds her pulse point, stopping to feel it pound against his lips, matching the one he felt in her wrists only seconds before.  Then, he begins nipping and sucking, until the beautiful noises she’s producing crescendo enough to make him dizzy.

“ _Maks_ ,” she breathes.

He speaks into her skin.

“I do believe we were interrupted.”

*             *             *

He refuses to stop looking at her.

His body is tired.  He has to wake up at a hideous hour in order to make his flight to Chicago.  He yawns, and his eyelids weigh on him, drooping.  He  _cannot_  and  _will not_ allow them to close.

He tries to think of all the beautiful things he’s seen in his life.  And there is  _nothing_ that comes to his mind – no breathtaking view or piece of art or gorgeous woman – that compares to  _this_. To the sight of her lying next to him, sleeping on her stomach, naked, save for his bedsheet draped across her lower half.  Moonlight shines into the room and cast a pale blue light over the flawless skin of her back. Her chestnut hair cascades over her shoulder in thick waves, and he recalls the way it felt between his fingers as he held her against him – so soft and smooth.  

Her chest moves steadily as she breathes.  He reaches out, runs his fingers over the side of her ribcage, feels the peaks and valleys of bones under her warm skin.  She sighs, and scrunches up her nose, until he removes his hand and stops tickling her.  He smiles. He hasn’t stopped smiling, not since she had wrapped her legs around him in the entranceway, kissed his temple and murmured against his skull.

_“Show me how much you care about me, Maks.”_

He had.

She nuzzles her head into the pillow before opening her eyes slowly.  She meets his gaze, and smirks.  His grin widens.

“Sleep with me, baby.”

She reaches out, curls a hand around his bicep, tugging weakly.  He laughs, and scoots over, until he is pressed against her side. She whispers, “That’s better,” and moves so her forehead rests against his shoulder.  He tangles their legs together, rubs his foot along her shin as one of her hands rests on his hip, thumb drawing small circles against his skin. After a few moments, he feels her even breath against his chest, as she falls back into slumber.

He thinks of all those lovely things again, everything that’s made him happy in the past.  And if those are _beautiful_ , and that was  _happiness_ , then what  _she_  is, what  _she_  brings him, is…unspeakably, indescribably, and exponentially  _more_. It is miraculous.  It is past anything for which he had ever hoped.

And he can’t help but think that everything before – every hardship, every joy, every sadness – had been nothing but build up.  Had prepared him for this.  For  _her_.

All his life, he had only been waiting for her.

He reaches his hand out and uses his index finger to draw along her back – light as a feather so he doesn’t wake her – in fluid, swooping letters.

_i  l  o v e  y o u_

He stares at the invisible trails his fingertips have left on her skin, a ridiculous grin on his face. He thinks he may never stop smiling.

He plants a kiss to the base of her neck before turning her on her side so he can spoon behind her. He pulls the covers up over them, places one more kiss in her hair before snuggling his head next to hers. He places a hand under her face, closes his eyes, inhales and smells her comforting scent.

As he teeters on the edge of sleep, her lips press against his palm.


	2. Regret

##  **Part 2: _Regret_**

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

They’re tucked away in a hidden corner of the airport, dressed indistinctly in sweats and hats, as to not drawn any attention or recognition to themselves. Their luggage stacked next to them, he holds her against the wall with his body, her fingers snaked into the hair at the nape of his neck, his face snuggled into her, lips peppering light kisses along the hollow of her throat.

“I wish  _you_ didn’t have to go,” he counters, words muffled by her skin.

She sighs, and allows him to ravish her neck for a few more moments before pulling his head up.  She pushes his face against hers, and captures his lips. He can’t help but smile into her mouth, and she giggles softly before breaking away, bringing her hands to his rest against his cheeks, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones.

“I wish it was you.  Coming with me.”

She frowns, and her gaze drifts down, to his lips, to his feet, and then back to his eyes.  He wishes, more than anything, that he could wipe her frown away, make it better.  But he can’t.  Because he feels the exact same way.

“I mean,” she continues, “I love Jenna, and I’m looking forward to spending time with her, but…I wish it was you.”

“Well, I’d  _much_  rather have you accompany me to India, but alas, I’m stuck with Merv.”

She laughs, and sounds makes his heart sing.  He runs his hand down the side of her face, and she leans into his touch.

“I’ll call you every day,” he promises.

“You better.”

The last call for his flight booms over the airport’s loudspeakers, and he leans down and grabs his bags regretfully.

“I’ll miss you,” he tells her.

“I’ll miss you more,” she answers, as she had that first time, as one of them always does.

He glances around to make sure no one is spying, and then kisses her.  After that, he leaves quickly, hoping the faster he leaves, the less it will hurt, like ripping off a bandage.

And he doesn’t have time to say it, to tell her how he feels.

He turns back once, gives her a small wave.  She smiles sadly, and waves back.

He’s reminded of the last time he dropped her off at an airport, how terrible it felt.  It felt like an ending.

It doesn’t feel like that this time.

It feels like the beginning.

*             *             *

India is beautiful, and all he can think about the whole time he’s there is how much she would love it, and how her eyes would light up at all the sights and sounds and people. He pledges to bring her back here, when they have more time, when they are free from everything except each other.

They speak every day, just like they vowed.  His love for her only grows, and a few times, he hears her laugh or joke with Jenna and he wants to tell her.

_I love you._

But he knows that it’s the kind of thing he should say in person.  And he doesn’t tell her.  And she sounds so happy, that the sting of separation is somewhat lessened.

India is beautiful, but he can’t wait to leave, to be on the same continent as her, the prospect of seeing her imminent and believable.

He can’t wait to go home. He can’t believe that he seems to have an actual home now, something that brings him peace and joy no matter where they happen to be.

His home is her.

*             *             *

Except when he comes back to New York City, things are not as he expected.

When he comes back, he’s dating Jennifer Lopez?

_What the actual fuck?_

He calls her, and it’s wonderful.  But it’s not quite satisfying, because she’s only a few hours from him in Michigan, and yet, they are not together.

She laughs into the receiver when he tells her of the way TMZ bombarded him in the airport when he landed.

“When did you even have time to start dating JLo?”

“I  _don’t know_.  I was in India, for fuck’s sake.  Merv and I looked at each other, and we were like, ‘ _What?’_ ”

“That’s hilarious.”

“So you had fun in Hawaii?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “But it wasn’t the same without you.”

“I know, baby.  The whole time I was in India, I kept imagining what it would be like with you there.”

“When do you think we’ll be able to see each other?”

He thought.

“Um.  I don’t know.  I really don’t have a break in my schedule anytime soon.  With Sway coming up and stuff.   Plus, Lizzie has me doing a lot of little stuff.  Do you think you could come to New York?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’m the same way, with the little stuff.”

The tiniest pang of fear rings in his heart.

But he pushes it away because it’s stupid to start worrying.  This is only the first time they’ve tried to meet up.  Next time, it would be easier.

“Don’t worry,” he says, trying to sound confident.  “If we can’t find time, we’ll make time.  Everything will work out, somehow.”

He prays to himself that everything would work out, somehow.

*             *             *

Except, things  _don’t_  work out.  Not right away, anyways.

They never seem to be free at the same time, and gossip magazines won’t give up on the baseless JLo thing.  And it only bother him because he knows it bothers her, even if she tries not to show it.

It gets bad after a picture of them pops up on the internet, after he goes to one of her concerts with Teddy, because they  _are_ friends.

“They’ll give it up eventually, won’t they?” she asks him over the phone.  “The gossip outlets?”

“Yes,” he assures her. “I promise this will end.”

“When?” she whispers.

“With something as unfounded as this?  Soon, hopefully.”

“I’m sorry.  I’m just not used to this stuff.  No one made up rumors about other girls being with my boyfriend before.  It’s not…fun.”

He smiles at her use of the word ‘boyfriend’, because it’s still so new and exciting, but is brought down immediately by the pain in her voice.

“I’m sorry, princess. I shouldn’t have gone.”

“Don’t be silly. We’re not going to let sleazy gossip reporters ruin our lives.  We’re adults, Maks.  We can get through this like adults.”

“You’re right,” he agrees. “We can do this.”

They can  _do this_ , damn it.

“I should go.  I have skating practice in the morning.”

“Okay.  Talk to you tomorrow.”

He almost says it, those three words, but she’s upset and he doesn’t want her to think he’s just saying it to make her feel better.

“Bye, Maks.”

“Bye, baby.”

And he doesn’t tell her.

*             *             *

The next time they talk about it, is almost the worst time.

He can tell there’s something off about her voice as soon as she picks up the phone, and he hopes she’ll just tell him.  But she doesn’t, and he has to ask.

“What’s wrong, Meryl?”

Silence passes between them, and then she exhales loudly.

“My aunt asked me if you were dating JLo today.”

He laughs at the absurdity of it all.

That’s a mistake.

“It’s not funny, Maks,” she spits.

“No, I know, princess, it’s just – “

“This a big joke to you, isn’t it?” she interrupts angrily.  “Maybe it is to you, but it’s not for me.  I don’t want to be on the pages of Us and People.”

“Babe, it’s not like  _I’m_ making up the rumors.”

“It’s not like you’re denying them, either.”

“Because,” he defends, “then people ask why I don’t deny you, and then we either lie or people know we’re dating, and you don’t want either of those things.”

“Oh, so this is my fault?”

He rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Because last time I checked, you didn’t want that either.”

“I don’t.  Stop twisting everything I say into shit I didn’t mean.”

“Whatever,” she barks. “I have to go to bed.  Don’t call me tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

She hangs up with an abrupt click.  He stares at the phone in his hand.

The fear in his heart rings louder.

And it won’t go away this time.

*             *             *

She calls him two days later.

When he picks up, they don’t say anything.  All they hear is each other breathing.

Then, he hears her sob. And his  _soul_ breaks.

“Meryl, I’m so sorry.”

“This is never going to end, is it?” she sniffles.

He hesitates.

“I mean, I know the JLo rumors will end eventually.  But after that, there will be someone else.  And someone else after that.  Even if we admit our relationship, or shit, get married and have kids, the storyline will just change.  You’ll be cheating on me or trying to leave me or knocking up some other girl.”

He’s at a loss for words. Because, to a degree, she’s  _right_.

Is he supposed to lie to her?

“You promised me it would stop,” she mumbled, and her tears are evident now, through the phone.  “But you were wrong.  It’s never going to end.”

“Baby,” he manages to choke out, “we can make it.”

“I don’t know if I can, Maks.”

The fear in his heart rings so, so loud.

“I just…I think I might need a break.”

The fear is all he can hear.

And he breaks into a million pieces.

*             *             *

She tells him that they need to stop talking, that they need distance.  They’ve been so close in the past, that a clean break is what they need. It will be the easiest.

And then, in a few months maybe, they can start to build a friendship.  If that goes well, and they feel it’s right, and people  _stop caring about them,_  maybe they can try again.

He tries to believe her words, but they sound so hollow that he can’t.

And she stops talking to him.

His calls go unanswered. She doesn’t respond to his texts. And his life starts to shatter. The color drains out of his world, along with the joy and the music.

He begins to fall apart, bit by bit.

He almost goes insane, not being able to communicate with her, so he begins to reach out in absolutely any way he can.  He posts songs that make him think of her on his Soundcloud.  He begins pouring out his soul regarding her during fucking  _ballroom_  events, trying to let her know how he felt about her, that he wasn’t giving up and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Then one day, out of the blue, she texts him.

_Meryl: What are you doing?_

He smiles,  _genuinely,_ for the first time in what feels like forever.

She  _heard_  him.

_Maks: What do you mean?_

_Meryl: The Soundcloud posts.  The damn Ballroom with a Twist quotes.  What are you doing?_

_Maks: I’m being honest._

Suddenly, his phone rings, and it’s her.

His heart leaps.

“Hello?” he answers.

“I wish I had met you at a different time,” is the first thing that comes out of her mouth.

“What?”

“I wish I had met you somewhere else.  Doing something else.  Where no one would have cared about us.  So things could’ve been different.”

“Things  _can_  be different,” he entreats to her.  “We just have to get through this, and then things can be different.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“We can do it, Meryl,” he continues desperately.  “We’re so strong.  You’re so strong, baby.”

She whispers, “Prove it to me.”

*             *             *

The nest day, he knocks at her front door.

When she opens it, the look of shock on her face is profound.  He would laugh, if seeing her for the first time in months doesn’t nearly knock him off his feet.  It does sweep the air out of his chest, and he lets out a breathless, “Hello.”

“Mak…Maks,” she stumbles, still astonished.

He inhales deeply, stuffs all his feelings down inside of him, and speaks.

“I know you told me this needed to be a clean break.  I’ll keep it short.  But you asked me to prove it to you, that we could make it.  So I’m asking you to give me a chance to prove it.”

He reached into his backpack, and pulled out a plane ticket, handing it to her.

“I have a charity even in Miami this weekend.  And then I’m staying a few extra days, just to hang out.  I would love it if you would come with me.  We can talk about what we want, spend time together, and figure out where we go from here.  I bought you a plane ticket that leaves from Detroit on Friday morning.  It gets there a half an hour before my flight, but I’ll text you my flight’s number and you can wait for me by our landing gate.  If you don’t use it, just keep it.  It’s a gift from me to you, no matter what you decide to do with it.  But I hope you decide to use it.”

She doesn’t say anything, instead staring at the ticket in her hands.  So she is slightly startled when he closes the gap between them and gathers her into his arms, lifting her off the ground and squeezing her for a moment before setting her on the ground and saying goodbye.

“I hope to see you soon, princess.  I’ve missed you.”

He turns and begins to walk to his rented car, not looking back.  Not giving her the chance to deny him now.  He wants her to stew on it a little.

And he prays.

(He tries to tell himself that he didn’t hear her call, “I’ve missed you more,” quietly after him as he closed his car door, so he doesn’t begin to hope.)

*             *             *

When he lands, he tells himself that she won’t be there.  That she’s made her choice, that she’s still in Michigan, that she wanted a  _clean break_.

So he almost faints when he walks into the airport after getting his luggage and sees her standing there, casual in sweatpants and a t-shirt and sneakers.

He stops, and drops his bag in shock.

The clink of the bag’s wheels against the tile floor makes her turn her head and find him, and as soon as their eyes meet, he runs.

He can’t help himself. He is so surprised and  _overjoyed_.

He swings her up in his arms and twirls her around when he reaches her.  She laughs loudly, and his whole essence dances.  It’s been so long since he’s heard her laugh, and the sound is still his favorite song.

He holds her against him tightly, with no intention of letting go.

“You came,” he whispers into her hair.

“I came,” she repeats.

She reaches her fingers up and tangles them into his hair.  He closes his eyes, reveling in the feeling of being near her again.

“I think…” she begins.

“What do you think, princess?”

“I was so scared,” she murmurs.  “When I broke it off, I was so scared. Because it wasn’t  _me_ , Maks.  I mean, before the Olympics, hardly anyone outside of Michigan recognized us, and suddenly I was attached to celebrities and people were writing gossip articles about my personal life and it was all so  _strange_.  So I ended it, because I was afraid of what was happening.  I felt like I was losing control.”

She takes one of her hands out of his hair, trails it down the side of his face, and rests it on his lips.

“But it wasn’t you that was the problem,” she continues.  “And I knew that.  I just needed someone to blame, and it was easy to blame you.  I’m so sorry for that. I know I hurt you, and I never wanted to do that.  I haven’t stopped thinking about it, since it happened. And every day, I think I made more of a mistake. So, I’d really love it if we could start over, with a blank slate.”

She drops her gaze from his, and smiles shyly.

“I think…I think I want to try.”

He  _can’t_  think, can’t speak, because he can’t believe her words.

“Tell me again,” he manages to whisper, after a few beats of silence.

“I’ve been mulling it over – for  _such_ a long time – and I want to try,” she says again.  “To be with you.  I’ve missed you so much over the past few months, and I want to be strong.  I don’t want to let them win.  So I want to try again, Maks.  Can we try again?  Will you forgive me?”

He hesitates for only a moment, to let her words sink in.

And then he crashes his lips against hers.

They kiss desperately, like they’ve never kissed before and will never kiss again.  She is the best thing he has ever tasted, and he never wants to stop kissing her.

But he must, to breathe. She giggles, and traces her fingers along his jaw.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she sings.

Maybe he should tell her now.  That he loves her.  But it is too soon, he thinks, and their nearly-new relationship is still too fresh, for those kinds of declarations.

“Shut up,” he heaves instead, “and kiss me again.”

She laughs.

And then she kisses him.

And he doesn’t tell her.

*             *             *

That evening, they sit on the balcony outside their hotel room, watching the sun set over the ocean. She is on his lap, curled into his bare chest.  They don’t speak; rather, they get to know each other again in silence, recall what it feels like to be in the other’s presence.

A breeze blows gently, making stray strands of her long brown hair dance in the air.  He occupies himself with catching them.

“Maks?” she murmurs.

He hums.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking,” he tells her, “that Miami is beautiful.  That you are beautiful.  And there’s nowhere on Earth I’d rather be that right here with you.”

He feels her smile against his skin.

“What are  _you_ thinking?”

“I’m thinking that this feels… _right_.”

He beams, and drops a kiss onto the top of her head.

“I think this feels right, too.”

And their hearts beat together under a dimming Miami sky.

*             *             *

They learn, months later, that things don’t always seem as right as they once did.

They learn that as time moves, people change, and so do their situations.

They learn through experience.

They learn through their fears and insecurities.  They learn through tears and fights and pain.  They learn through the emptiness of broken hearts.

They learn that there are things you think will last forever, that last for a blink of an eye. For one infinite, beautiful, moment, you can experience a lifetime of feeling with another person.

But every moment must end.

And they learn that there’s nothing they can do about that.

*             *             *

Three years later, she is in New York City on business, and texts him and asks if he wants to meet for coffee.

It figures that she would be the once to contact him, since she has always been the bigger person, and maybe that was the problem in their relationship. Maybe there wasn’t enough balance.  Maybe they played into the stereotypes that others put forth of them too much.

Or maybe that’s really who they were.  And they were never meant to work out in the first place.

They meet each other at a little, nearly-empty coffee shop absurdly early on a Wednesday morning, before her meetings begin.  They greet each other with a cool hug, and then sit at an empty table in the back corner of the establishment, just to make sure no one recognizes them.

For an hour, they talk about nothing, about everything except what they really want to, but aren’t willing to bring up.  Smiles are forced, and pauses are awkward.  Halfway through, he thinks that maybe this was a bad idea, but then he remembers that they have to be grown-ups, that they’ve avoided each other for two years but they’d have to interact sooner or later.  After all, she is still friends with Val.

She finishes her coffee and her bagel, and he can tell she is trying to wrap up the conversation, as she looks at her phone and picks up her bag.  He curses internally, because he knows what he should do.  They may never again have an opportunity like this, and there are some things he should say.

So he reaches across the table, and rests his hand on her arm, trying to ignore the way she stiffens.

“Can you stay for five more minutes?  There are some things I want to…ask you.”

She knows what he means immediately, and sighs.

“Maks.”

“Please, Meryl.  I’d love to be able to be friends with you again someday, but there are some things we need to resolve first.”

She hesitates, and then concedes with a shaky breath, putting her bag down.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

She nods.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he starts generally.

“What happened?”

She laughs grimly, and shrugs her shoulders, turning her head to look out the window at the city outside.

“I don’t know.  A lot happened.  I guess I just always figured…it wasn’t meant to be.  Maybe we thought it was for a time, but it just…wasn’t.”

“And that’s it?  It was just…fate?”

“I guess.”

He shakes his head.

“That isn’t good enough for me.”

“Well,” she says slowly, “I don’t know what to tell you.”

He doesn’t either.

He wants to tell her how much he misses her, how he’s missed her every single day, and he wants to hear her tell him she’s missed him more.  He wants to tell her how he still keeps his ears and eyes open for any mention of her on television or the internet or by his brother, just to get a glimpse into her life, to see how she’s doing, to make sure she’s okay.  He wants to tell her that he dreams about her every night, that he sees her in everything, that he feels her every time he dances.  That he misses her  _so much_.

But he can’t, because the shine of the engagement ring on her finger glares at him,  _mocks_  him.  And he can’t tell her those sorts of things.  Not anymore.

But one thing tumbles out of his mouth, without thinking.  The one thing that maybe would’ve changed things, if he had just had the strength to tell her, during one of those many opportunities that presented themselves.  Sometimes he thinks he should’ve told her the first time he ever thought it, regardless of their audience.

“I loved you.”

She lets out a shaky breath, and turns back to him, tears glistening in her eyes. She reaches across the table, taking his right hand in her left.  The metal of her ring burns his fingers.

“I loved you, too,” she whispers, her voice breaking.

“What do we do?” he questions meekly, frantically.

“Nothing,” she declares. “It’s too late.”

She gets up, excuses herself to the bathroom to fix her eye makeup.  He grabs a napkin and asks the barista for a pen, scribbling down a quick note and stuffing it in her purse to find, making sure to do it rapidly and without thinking, so he doesn’t chicken out and change his mind.

When she comes out of the restroom, she gathers her things, kisses his cheek, and leaves wordlessly. There are still tears in her eyes.

He sits at the table, nursing his coffee, his eyes glued to her figure as she crosses the street and walks off.

*             *             *

Two weeks later, she’s at her final wedding dress fitting.  She’s digging through her purse to find the other earing her grandmother gave her to wear.  Exasperated at her inability to find it, she dumps her purse out.

Among its contents on the floor is a white napkin, folded in half twice, that she doesn’t remember placing there.

She picks it up as her mother sorts through the other contents and finds the earring.  She unfolds it, reads the note scribbled on it.

She freezes.

The blood drains from her face.

“Are you okay?” her mother asks.

She stares at the napkin a moment longer before glancing at her mother, wide-eyed, and making herself smile.

“I’m fine,” she lies.

“What is that?”

“Oh, nothing,” she replies stiffly, finding her jacket and stuffing the napkin in its pocket.  “Just the number of someone Yuki wanted me to call.”

Her mother half-smiles.

She can’t focus the rest of the fitting.

*             *             *

When she’s home alone that night, she goes to her jacket and takes the napkin out, unfolding it, running her fingers over his unmistakable penmanship.

 _I still do_.

She holds the note, and cries.

She wants to burn it. She wants to kiss it.  She wants to get married tomorrow.  She doesn’t want to get married at all.

She wants to fly to New York City.  

She wants to run to him.

She wants to call him, wants to tell him that  _she still does too_.

She picks up her phone and dials his number, but hangs up before he can answer.

She looks at the note one more time, before opening her nightstand and stuffing it between the pages of her favorite book.

She lays on her bed and cries.

Her phone begins to ring a few minutes later, and she looks at the screen.  It’s him calling her back.

She lets it ring.

She wants to answer it. She wants to hear his voice and she wants him to tell her that everything would work out, just like he used to, and she wants to tell him that  _she still does, too_.

But she cries.

And she lets it ring.

And she doesn’t tell him.


End file.
